last color

last color
drained from the sky
my eyes soften

blue moon

blue moon
the day
I get over you

autumn breeze

autumn breeze
the sussurus
of leaves

moonlight

moonlight
your hand pressed against
the small of my back

summer haze

summer haze
were you ever
the man I loved?

cricket song

cricket song
my longing too
unanswered

late summer

late summer
the gardener polishes
a bronze girl

thunder moon

this old fight
knowing both our parts
thunder moon

from dusk to dawn

from dusk to dawn
you and I
just like evening star
and morning star
one and the same

eclipse

eclipse
the taste of goodbye
in your kiss

cloud watching

cloud watching
the reunion
of Pangaea

mosquito

mosquito
and I
blood brothers

hiking trail

hiking trail
my shadow merges
with the oak's

trail's edge

trail's edge
deceiving only ourselves
bunny and I

sego lilies

sego lilies
the trail dissolves
into wildflowers

ceiling fan

ceiling fan
the whir
of my thoughts

this common sabbath

this common sabbath
spokes of sunlight splay
from a nimbus cloud

summer day

summer day
clover bending
with the bee's weight

memorial day

memorial day
a sea of small flags
bearing witness

afterward

afterward
nothing between us
everything between us

lover's quarrel

lover's quarrel
the tea kettle
silenced

summer heat

summer heat
the air you no longer
displace

lingering dusk

lingering dusk
the silence between us
says it all

stone's last skip

stone's last skip
before sinking out of sight
wishing I had known
that farewell kiss
was really goodbye

magnolia buds

magnolia buds
tell me, what breaks
your soul open?

wild horses

wild horses
your twenty-year-old body
as if yesterday

été

été
such beauty only French
can capture

spring cleaning

yellowed envelope
holding your golden curls
spring cleaning

Special Olympics

Special Olympics
athlete's smile
takes the gold

sickle moon

sickle moon
metallic taste
of this papercut

tanka

no words exist
to articulate my love
so let me
show you now
with this kiss

late spring

late spring
height of unknown children
notched on this door frame

evensong

evensong
sunset the pale orange
of mother's hair

mother's day

mother's day
the neighbor's lilies
on my breakfast tray

spring wake

spring wake
the sun
before its rise

untimely death

untimely death
watching dust fall
through sun's rays

RIP Charles Wood 1932 - 2010

twilight

twilight
portrait of a child
that will never age

another summer

another summer
summoning the courage
to try again

swollen spring river

swollen spring river
the line catches
first light

experimental haiku

life                death

blue iris

I arrive at his hospital bedside to find him much closer in his harrowing and humiliating decline. Despite the pain that even morphine and dilaudid only dull, he welcomes a stream of visitors. His eyes fill with tears as I squeeze his hand and tell him I love him.

We always knew it would be lung cancer, yet we cannot believe when the diagnosis comes.

blue iris
the color of his eyes
fleeting as smoke

fire opal

I am wearing the beautiful fire opal earrings and necklace he gave me. This gem could be mistaken for turquoise except for its brilliance. Yet I am conflicted about wearing jewelry given to me by a man who presented them with such affection and who no longer returns my calls.

I didn't want to hurt him by returning his gifts, though I am unsure whether it is right for me to continue adorning myself with his love tokens.

fire opal
the spark
snuffed

earth day

a robin's beak
pierces its shell
earth day

Haiku Now! contest results

I love the word "apercu," so I'm happy Jim used it in his analysis of my poem. http://www.thehaikufoundation.org/contest/haiku-now-contest-2010/

dandelion seeds

dandelion seeds
of all my eggs
the three that took root

Curtis Dunlap's Three Questions

I am today's featured poet at Blogging Along Tobacco Road!

veil of spring rain

veil of spring rain
the anniversary
of my divorce

Snapshot Press Calendar 2011 Runner Up

Slightly disappointed about being "just" a runner-up in the Snapshot Press calendar contest for 2011, but the haiku will appear in the calendar nonetheless. I hate when the results are alphabetical,  because it looks like I'm waaaay down at the bottom of runner-up-hood.

the observer effect

Behavioral scientists have proven that people act more ethically when they believe they are being watched. In one study, students gave to an honor system kitty for coffee twice as often when a set of eyes was illustrated on the sign requesting a contribution.

cherry blossoms
the monk primes
his alms bowl

Understanding how to direct human behavior by perceived observation pre-dates psychology, as the author of Hebrews 4:13 knew: And before him no creature is hidden, but all are naked and laid bare to the eyes of the one to whom we must render account. The all-seeing eye is represented in religions as diverse as ancient Egyptian polytheism, Buddhism, and Christianity. It even appears on US currency.

if there were a god...
entering my full income
on the tax form

Most of us prefer to imagine the less Orwellian eye of a shepherd watching over his sheep or our very own guardian angel.

clear skies
my faithless prayers rise
unfettered

In quantum physics, the term observer effect means the act of observing influences the phenomenon being observed. The eye of the beholder, and even its perspective, directly affects the process.

the instant
of transubstantiation
paschal eucharist

vernal equinox

vernal equinox
as many questions
as answers

sakura buds

sakura buds
on the verge
her thirteenth birthday

last petal

the last petal
affirms what I knew:
he loves me not

spring pond

spring pond
blue heron and his shadow
skim the surface

garden planning

garden planning
weeding out the plants
that failed last year

light years

light years these rays
traveled to fall on my face
your long absence

knowing

cloudless sky
all the things
I don't know

this winding river
confluence of what I know
and what I don't

milky way
what I don't know
I don't know

nacreous sunset

nacreous sunset
the ocean
within this whelk

first crocus

first crocus
the oncologist says
no hope

terminal cancer
the contrails end
midair

*my former father-in-law has been diagnosed with carcinoma.

Ash Wednesday

Ash Wednesday
light rain
from the cloud-smudged sky

two views of V-Day

Valentine's Day
the first shoots
of tulips

Valentine's Day
thin ice covers
the pond

a valentine

Humbled and grateful: Heron's Nest Reader's Choice Awards

purple dawn

purple dawn
light slowly enters
the passion flower

tanka

the surf has washed
away our footprints
and with them
the only proof
we loved once

starless night

starless night
my daughter delivered home
by a policeman

from my window

from my window
a maple's lichened trunk
the only green

earthquake aftermath

earthquake aftermath
the child found alive
the child found dead

sunrise

sunrise
I smell
like you

first snow

first snow
all the shades
of white

long winter's day

travelogue marked
with an old ticket stub
long winter's day

firelight

biting the peel
a burst of orange mist
firelight

new year

new year
no cicadas fill the night
but oh, the fireworks

bank statement

year-end bank statement
reusing the tea bag
for a second cup

last day of the year

last day of the year
the dream
unremembered

lustrous snow

lustrous snow
paraphrasing
sunlight

Christmas eve

Christmas eve
the girls wearing
new flannel PJs

solstice

solstice
sipping a stronger brew
in the waning light

rain turns to sleet

rain turns to sleet
grounding my daughter
our shared tears

winter night

winter night
chill of moonlight
on my skin

Publication

Winter Heron's Nest

half moon

half moon
giving thanks
for all of it

Words

Today a favorite poem that speaks of how language defines the world and always falls short. Very relevant to haiku's subtlety, its "pointing a jeweled finger at the moon."

The world does not need words. It articulates itself
in sunlight, leaves, and shadows. The stones on the path
are no less real for lying uncatalogued and uncounted.
The fluent leaves speak only the dialect of pure being.
The kiss is still fully itself though no words were spoken.

And one word transforms it into something less or other—
illicit, chaste, perfunctory, conjugal, covert.
Even calling it a kiss betrays the fluster of hands
glancing the skin or gripping a shoulder, the slow
arching of neck or knee, the silent touching of tongues.

Yet the stones remain less real to those who cannot
name them, or read the mute syllables graven in silica.
To see a red stone is less than seeing it as jasper—
metamorphic quartz, cousin to the flint the Kiowa
carved as arrowheads. To name is to know and remember.

The sunlight needs no praise piercing the rainclouds,
painting the rocks and leaves with light, then dissolving
each lucent droplet back into the clouds that engendered it.
The daylight needs no praise, and so we praise it always—
greater than ourselves and all the airy words we summon.

from Interrogations at Noon
© 2001 Dana Gioia

cold drizzle

cold drizzle
how can a broken heart
continue breaking?

Happy birthday, my son

winter in the wind

winter in the wind
no cake for this candle lit
in memoriam

For Andy

biodiversity

Sometimes, a picture really is worth a thousand words. I thought this pictorial in the NYT titled "biodiversity" was particularly poetic and humorous. You'll see autumn leaves in a new light.

Simply Haiku

Catch my latest publication at Simply Haiku. See assemblages 2, 3, and 4.

last leaf

last leaf
re-learning the art
of letting go

late autumn

late autumn
preferring the quiet work
of raking leaves

all saints day

all saints day
from the corner of my eye
someone   no one

autumn sunset

autumn sunset
dripping Van Morrison's
Tupelo honey

reading haiku

reading haiku
at 3 a.m.
rain drums the skylight

cold rain

cold rain
a maple leaf floats
in the water basin

the breached creek bank

breached creek bank
all day half-living
in last night's dream

Transitions

I started this blog, appropriately, on April 1, 2007, with the intent of writing one haiku a day for a year, which I did for well over 2 years. Most haiku experts will admit that none of those first verses qualifies as haiku. It has been a journey, one I am deeply grateful to have your friendship and kindness as I made my way.

Writing a daily haiku feels more like work than an interesting challenge these days. I need to be untethered from the calendar and write as moved, which I hope doesn't become too infrequent. I have felt anxiety, not wanting to let my readers down. I am so grateful for your support.

I have another challenge I am not sure how to approach. Most journals are now accepting haiku that have not appeared in print or on line in any forum. I need to think about whether the day-to-day camaraderie and support I get is more important to me than publishing. I could post here the haiku I don't intend on submitting, but a) it's hard to know how good a poem is sometimes when it's fresh, whether it's a keeper or not, and b) I don't want the quality of my blog to consist only of the sub-par haiku. I welcome your advice. I don't like feeling like I have to choose between my blog and publishing. Suggestions?

I've renamed the blog to break from the daily commitment. I am using a line from a haibun and what will be the title of my book, the rising mist. The URL remains the same.

Warmest thanks,

Nora

mackerel sky

pine shavings curl
in the hand plane
mackerel sky

migration

migration
this unnamed flock
no less beautiful

pond

the leaf's shadow
on the pond dapples
brocaded carp

deep autumn

deep autumn
we read love poems once
in these woods

autumn dew

autumn dew
bird seed sprouting
in the old feeder

unfulfilled wish

unfulfilled wish
daruma doll's
one eye

star map

star map
tracing the constellations
on your flesh

rising floodwaters

rising floodwaters
the man paddles his canoe
with a shovel

Autumn Equinox

autumn equinox
the fallen leaf
half-green, half-gold

first frost

first frost
instead of silk
flannel

harvest moon

harvest moon
swimming in the black pond
on this clear night

time's passing

time's passing
my hourglass waist betrayed
by middle-age

cricket song

cricket song
long accustomed
to this ceaseless yearning

9/11

9/11
weeping willow vines
just touch the water

autumn breeze

autumn breeze
a child whispers
her first grace

morning tea

morning tea
returning the cup
its emptiness

neighborhood walk

neighborhood walk
echo of my "good morning"
from the stroller

seasons change

seasons change
grandma's grave healing
from the interment

first cool day

first cool day
not wanting to conceal
my pink pedicure

letter-burning

letter-burning
smoke's plumed calligraphy
renders these words mute

Notes from the Gean Tree

My latest haiku published here.

Hi, Alan! I see we're "following" each other again in the publications. Great work!

littoral

littoral
with each wave a grain of sand
given and taken

shadows lengthen

shadows lengthen
a crimson leaf rests
on the sundial

open window

open window
the cellist's
slow vibrato

lotus pond

lotus pond
tadpoles feast
on a seedpod

honeysuckle

honeysuckle
the hummingbird
presses in deeper

on the lake

on the lake
water's reflection dances
across her face

algae bloom

algae bloom
the green frog jumps
into my green pond

autumn grasses

autumn grasses
at least the tea
remains green

Atlanta traffic

Atlanta traffic
pondering the manner
of my death

low tide

low tide
a gull's wing curves
over the curved earth

jelly-making

jelly-making
a parade of ants
sticks to the counter

alone

alone
dabbing on perfume
anyway

Publication

Check out my latest publication in the autumn edition of Simply Haiku: haiku and haibun

sirens

sirens pierce the night
the stillborn's
unheard cries

deep shade

deep shade
the deep purple sweetness
of serviceberries

perseids

perseids
we help mother blow out
sixty-three candles

August heat

August heat
the pregnancy test results
become clear

this is not an announcement; it's just an image. :-)

damselflies

damselflies
dart across the water
a bluer blue

the fading sunset

the fading sunset
at her bedside
he strokes her hair

flight of time

the egret lifts off
contemplating the flight
of time

first light

first light
heeding the cardinal's
call to prayer

end of summer

end of summer
more cucumbers
than neighbors

this steady rain

this steady rain
the one thing I needed
you couldn't do:
to love me
without stint

hazy moon

hazy moon
above and below
the moon bridge

ink-stained silk

ink-stained silk
I have banished you
from my thoughts
why do you
invade my dreams?

blue columbine

blue columbine
the freshly etched date
on her headstone

morning dew

morning dew--
in layered chiffon and pearls
grandma's burial dress
is the finest
she ever wore

A note

I have hit 800 virtually daily haiku, and I want to thank all of you, my friends, for your comments and kindness. I might have given up at some point without them. As a result of both of our constancy, I will be publishing a collection around year-end. Stay tuned...

Also, Alan hasn't posted the results to the contest page yet, but he notified the contestants by e-mail, and I was short-listed for the annual With Words Haiku Competition for this haiku:

pink dawn
the wingbeats of geese
returning

Thank you, Alan. And thank you all!

still summer night

still summer night
the taste of my daughter's sweat
as I kiss her brow

I waited

I waited in vain
for you last night
yet I heard
you calling me
in the wind

flower-laden grave

flower-laden grave
the goodbye
I never said

light slants

light slants through the clouds
we leave the cemetery
bearing her with us

solar eclipse

solar eclipse
grandma's white hair haloes
her repose

last shimmer

last shimmer
of light fades from the lake
grandma's passing

For AHL 1918 - 2009

last night

last night
we breathed in unison
missing you now
I cannot seem to catch
my breath at all

first peach

first peach
the child's rosy chin
dripping nectar

rain on windchimes

rain on windchimes
the sound
of your leaving

sleepless night

sleepless night
the din of worry and frogs
calling

roses wilting

roses wilting
lying here together
missing you still

news of a death

news of a death
even in the shade
the unforgiving sun

summer day

summer day
among the clouds
runs a wind horse

summer love

summer love
he gathers her a bouquet
of lightning bugs

jasmine twining

jasmine twining
the churchyard fence
a freshly heaped grave

this heat

this heat! sleeping naked under a naked moon

With a nod to Issa...

edge of morning

edge of morning
sun kissing the edge
of the earth

wildflowers

rutted service road
knee deep
in wildflowers

night sky

the night sky
raining stars
fireworks

Independence Day

homeless girl playing
with her unraveled hem
Independence Day

city bus

Rome flashing
across passengers' faces
city bus

heron

heron
wading into
the cloud

river baptism

rising
in a nimbus of midges
river baptism

quavering heat

quavering heat
cicadas cry
in tempo

white lie

white lie
a veiled beekeeper
puffs smoke at the hive

cumulus

cumulus
crossing the blue pools
of her gaze

swan song

a mute swan's song
from its carved wing bone
first flute music

stone age flutes

riding in the rain

My father was an avid equestrian and disciplinarian. His four daughters dreaded riding with him because he sternly and constantly corrected our form or technique. When I was 15 and more interested in Seventeen magazine and fashion than going on horseback with my dad, that's where I found myself one early summer day. I wish I could remember why we went riding together; I certainly wouldn't have gone willingly.

As we guided our horses up the narrow trail through the aspen groves and Indian Paintbrush of the national forest--dad in his cowboy hat in front and I, bare-headed, in back--a light, warm rain began. I do recall the easy quiet between us with only the sound of soft rain, squeak of saddles bearing our weight, and a horse's hoof striking an exposed root or rock. Just as vividly I can still smell the ozone, the woods, and the scent of wet horse and leather.

warm rain
only the trail before us
silence between us

moon-gazing

moon-gazing
even from this rock
an astronaut

watering can

watering can
wilting plants revived
with simplicity

by Afton

windrows

windrows
red as his allis chalmers
the farmer's face

midnight jazz

midnight jazz
rain streaming down
the verdigris chain

the shortest night

the shortest night
fireflies outshine
the stars

midsummer

midsummer
on its shimmering thread
spider poised halfway

verandah

verandah
the deaf man
listens to the rain

summer's warm breeze

summer's warm breeze
wanting to hear again
my name in your voice

moonless night

moonless night
the hounds howl
only in my dream

reunion

sepia souls smile
from a photo negative
reunion

overgrown grapevine

overgrown grapevine
unsigned divorce papers
heavy in my hand

relentless sun

relentless sun
my lips meet the cool arc
flowing from the hose

Cassiopeia

limned in light
across night's dark scroll
Cassiopeia

sego lilies

In the Wyoming high country sego lilies bloom for only two weeks in mid-June. Their exotic beauty is unexpected amid sage, aspen and pinon pine. My Mormon ancestors foraged for these nutritious bulbs in lean times. To me, they were a true sign of summer as the snows receded from the foothills.

homesick--
hungry only for the beauty
of sego lilies

sweltering stillness

sweltering stillness
the nurse flicks a bubble
from the syringe

silver dawn

silver dawn
slug traces iridesce
on the garden path

live oak

live oak
dripping moss
dripping moonlight

flower moon

flower moon
the nightshades
unfurl

afternoon heat

afternoon heat
tandem damselflies
bask on a reed

thistles

yanking up thistles
the confession
I regret

summer heat

summer heat
kimono hung on the wall
billows from the fan

rose grafts

rose grafts--
I sit as my daughter
draws my portrait

faded postcard

faded postcard
the Nagasaki temple
before

publication

Catch my latest haiku published in The Heron's Nest.

hydrangea

hydrangea
on one hand pink
on the other blue

lilacs

scent of lilacs
family gathered
for her last breaths

last cast

last cast
the fly's graceful arc ending
at the rainbow trout

fig blossoms

fig blossoms
my daughter asks when I lost
my virginity

night sky

night sky
from the beginning of time
birth of a star

spring trail

spring trail
the squeak of new leather
on an old nag